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About Me

Welcome!
To me, there is nothing more precious than our family.
We are all connected in some way, like the branches of a tree. This site explores those branches, sharing family stories and information - both known and yet to be discovered - so we can meet the people behind the names and gain insights into our own lives. If you have questions or wish to share your own memories or photo about a family on this site, please leave a comment, or contact me.

Benita had long been fascinated by her father's stories of his travels around the world as a youth. Thomas McGinnis, who was orphaned at a young age, had run away to sea to become a sailor, seeing much of the world before settling down as a family man. He and Mary Jane spent long hours with Benita, planning her trip and writing to their Irish relatives of her impending arrival.

As respectable young women of that era did not travel alone, she went accompanied by her friend Katharine Cronican, and possibly with a cousin, Eileen Kelly (whose name appears on the ship's manifest on the way back home).

Eileen Kelly, Chicago,Illinois, about 1919.

This is a photograph of Eileen Kelly, taken with the McGinnis-Gaffney family at their Drexel Avenue home. Though I do not have any information to corroborate her family relationship yet, I believe she may be related through Mary Jane's maternal line.

I am unable to determine when the three young women departed for Europe, but I know they returned to the United States through Boston on the Cunard liner, the R.M.S.Franconia. They could have been away for as short as the summer of 1913 or as long as a couple of years.

Benita McGinnis, center, in white blouse; Katharine Cronican is to her right,wearing sunglasses. The other passengers are unidentified. 1913.

Benita's scrapbook is crammed with small 2" x 3" photographs of her days on ship. Here, she and Katharine hold court with some of their fellow passengers. It is hard to tell whether Eileen is in this group.

Katherine F. Cronican

We have limited information about Katharine Cronican. From what I can tell on Ancestry.com, she was born on August 11, 1885, in Valparaiso, Indiana. Her 1910 passport application indicates that she was a teacher living in Chicago who planned to spend two years abroad. A couple of years after returning to Chicago, she married Joseph Marcinkevich, a Russian immigrant who was a soft drink manufacturer. The 1920 U.S. Census lists them as living on East 72nd Street, living with two sons.

A couple of years later, Benita and her family would buy a house around the corner on South Vernon Avenue. It would be nice to think the two families continued their friendship through the years, with Benita and Katharine reminiscing about their adventures as young Americans in early 20th century Europe.

A defining moment in young Benita's life, this would be the first of her many trips around the world.

Sometimes you just have to take some time off to make memories, not only remember them. And that's why it's been a bit quiet lately here at Many Branches, One Tree. Priorities of family have been the order of the day. I must admit it's been rather nice to pull off the Internet Highway for a while to be fully present to and enjoy the ones I love.

But I can't be away forever. Here's my gift to all of you, courtesy of my beloved "Aunt Detty," who created this lovely scene, titled Early Mass, one snowy Milwaukee night some 91 years ago. Depicting a family making their way through the bitter cold to the church in the distance, it evokes the deep love, faith, and devotion of that holiest of families, Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, whose feast day the church celebrates today.

Wherever you are in the world as you read this, whether in the chilly north, on a sunny beach, or somewhere in between, may you and your loved ones enjoy all the blessings of this sacred Christmas season - and may the New Year bring you many occasions to create special memories together.

Friday, November 22, 2013

I was a third grader at Saint Philip Neri Elementary School
in Chicago, Illinois, when the principal’s voice came over the public address
system, announcing that President John F. Kennedy had been shot in Dallas.She asked all the classes to stop what
they were doing and join in prayer for our president.It was just after 10:30 in the morning, exactly 50 years ago today.

For a split second, everyone in our class froze in confusion
and disbelief.Our teacher, Mrs. Tormey, was the first to cry, and the rest of us followed.The door was open, and we could hear
similar outbursts from the neighboring classrooms.It took a few seconds before we realized that the principal
was still on the P.A., praying the Rosary. We joined in and prayed for John F. Kennedy with all our
hearts.

My memory of the next half hour or so is more blurry than
the beginning.The teachers must
have been as confused as anyone as to what to do next.I think there was another announcement,
because the teachers brought all the students into the corridor.There they instructed us to sit on the
floor against the walls, as we continued to pray.This was not unusual to us, as we were accustomed to sitting
in the long corridors during tornado warnings and air raid drills.

The P.A. system stayed on as Sister led us through our
prayers, the faint sound of a news broadcast playing in the background. When
she broke the news to us that President Kennedy had died, the hall erupted into
a chorus of sobs, and we were dismissed for the day.My little sister and I walked the three blocks home to find
our mother glued to the TV set in the living room, crying her eyes out. She took our hands and led us to the couch, where we all sat down to watch as CBS news anchor Walter Cronkite bravely announced the breaking
developments.

I and others my age learned a new and sad vocabulary over
the next several days.Bulletin.Assassination.Motorcade. Grassy
Knoll. Secret Service. Texas Book Depository. Suspect. Tragedy. Tarmac. Air
Force One.Swearing-in.
Lying-in-state.Rotunda. State funeral. Caisson. Taps. Eternal Flame. We learned new names, too: John Connolly. Lee Harvey Oswald. Jack Ruby.

1963 had been a year of sad losses for me.It began when my adored Nana – my maternal grandmother Alice (McGinnis) Schiavon, died
in the early hours of New Year’s Day.Six months later, on June 3, Pope John XXIII died.In my childlike way, I had loved him
because he looked kind and grandfatherly and was as close to God as anyone
could get. And then we lost our young and vibrant president on that sunny day
in November. My innocent eight-year-old mind could not comprehend any of it.

That evening, overwhelmed by all that had happened that day, I went into the kitchen to be with my mother while she cooked dinner.I leaned against the refrigerator and stared into space.The
world had suddenly become dark and confusing, and my face felt hot as tears
streamed down my cheeks.“Mommy,” I said somberly, “three people I love died this year:Nana, the Pope, and President Kennedy. I think my heart is
broken.”

My sweet mother turned from the sink and took me in her
arms.There was nothing she could
say at that moment.We just hugged
each other, knowing the world would never again be the same.

I think most people felt the same way. In fact, on that day, the immediacy of television for the first time ever brought history right into our living rooms and connected us through tragedy. No matter who you were or where you were in the world when JFK was assassinated, you were right there - with him, with Jackie and Caroline and John-John, with Lyndon Johnson and all the rest. It was a violent day in our history, and Americans of all ages wondered if and how we could go on, but we did. Perhaps we survived because we believed Kennedy when he said we were "not here to curse the darkness, but to light a candle that can guide us through the darkness to a safe and sure future. For the world is changing. The old era is ending. The old ways will not do." From the depths of darkness came flickers of light as people young and old sought to do good and carry out his vision to better the world. It took time, but we healed, albeit with scars, thanks to the legacy of hope and aspiration and service that JFK had instilled in us during his three short years as president.As I remember where I was on November 22, 1963, I also remember where I was on July 20, 1969. I had just turned 14. Six years had passed since JFK's death, and our family and millions of others across the globe once again gathered around our television sets. This time, the occasion was marked by joy and anticipation. My parents halted their wallpapering project and called my sisters and me to watch as astronaut Neil Armstrong landed Apollo 11 on the moon, fulfilling John F. Kennedy's pledge that the United States would make a moon landing by the end of the decade. As Armstrong stepped down from the lunar module onto the moon's rocky surface, we cheered triumphantly, for his achievement, for our nation, and for our late president.

"The Photographers"from the scrapbook of Benita (McGinnis) McCormick,1908, School of the Art Institute of Chicago

Over the past week, we have seen photographs from my grand aunt Detty's (Benita McGinnis) scrapbook of her life's memories. Today, we get to take a peek at some of the people who may - we are surmising here - may have taken some of the pictures from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

The box looks like a prop that might have been part of a magician's act. Why are the two men pushing the third man into the box? Could it have been just for the sake of artistic composition? The man on the left bears some resemblance to the professor in the photograph we saw last week, surrounded, you may recall, by the students of the Girls' Life Class as they boldly raised their wine glasses on some special occasion.Who were these four people? Were they in fact photographers, art students, or simply practical jokers? One can always hope that someone will recognize them and give them their due.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

The caption, as written in Benita's scrapbook,reads, "Me and my dog in the play." Art Institute of Chicago, 1910.

In 1910, two years after playing the male lead in the Girls' Life Class production of Romeo and Juliet, my grand aunt Detty (Benita McGinnis) donned her period costume once more to become Hamlet, as seen here.

It is hard to decide which of these photos is my favorite. Though I like the one with the outlandish dog on the leash, I think I prefer the picture of Hamlet as he contemplates the skull of Yorick. I saw that expression many times. It usually meant that Aunt Detty was not so much contemplating something, as that she had some creative idea that no one had as yet devised.

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Benita McGinnis, far right, in the title role in the Girls' Life Classproduction of William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet." Fullerton Hall, Art Institute of Chicago, 1908.

To the ham go the parts. That seemed to be the case for my grand aunt Detty (Benita McGinnis), who loved center stage and played the lead in two Shakespearean productions by the Girls' Life Class of the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.The first part was that of Romeo Montague in the all-girl cast of Romeo and Juliet. Aunt Detty, on the far right, strikes a confident pose as our hero.

From Aunt Detty's scrapbook. Caption reads, "Men's Life Class." They seem to bewarming up for their supporting role as the band for the Girls' Life Class productionof "Romeo and Juliet. Fullerton Hall, Art Institute of Chicago, 1908.

The program above refers to "A Hand-Made Play" and "Another One,"possibly hinting at the fun thatawaited the audience on the eveningof May 12, 1908.

Not to be outdone by their female counterparts, the Men's Life Class, evidently a fun-loving group, offered their voice and instruments in musical support of the production. In these two photographs, also from Aunt Detty's scrapbook, they show us there is more than one definition of "comedy." (Note the school initials, "AIC '08 on the side of the drum.)

The playful looks in all these photographs beg the question: was this a serious dramatic rendition of William Shakespeare's play, or a parody? The program makes reference to a "hand-made play," possibly foreshadowing an amusingly entertaining evening.

Caption reads, "Mens' Life and Band, whooping it up forthe Girl's play of "Romeo & Juliet." Fullerton Hall,Art Institute of Chicago, 1908. What were they pointing at?

Monday, November 18, 2013

Alphonse Mucha at the School of the ArtInstitute of Chicago, circa 1907 - 1909.Photograph from Benita (McGinnis) McCormick's scrapbook.

One of the photographs in my grand aunt Detty's (Benita) scrapbook of memories was of her professor, Alphonse Mucha, whom she regarded highly and considered an early influence on her work. Mucha, a Czech artist, was world renowned for his contributions to the French school of the Art Nouveau movement.

After Mucha moved from his native Moravia to Paris, the famous actress Sarah Bernhardt asked him to create a poster of her to promote an 1895 play in which she was starring.Titled Gismonda for her character and the name of the production, the posterattracted critical acclaim for its seminal and unconventional style. Mucha went on to create many more posters and paintings, illustrations, and commercial art in what became known as the Mucha style.

In 1906, the School of the Art Institute of Chicago invited Mucha to teach an advanced class as a guest professor. Aunt Detty, then 17, was one of his students. A year later, while studying under the famous professor, she produced the sketch below. It appears to have been either a Christmas poster or cover. The writing in the border at the bottom notes that it was a "Design for the no. (sic) Corpus Christi Record."

I have not been able to find a publication by that name, nor can I determine that such a periodical existed. Maybe Aunt Detty wrote the caption at the bottom of the illustration at the time she drew it or years later, when the name of the periodical could have been blurred by memory. I do think, though, that this was a preliminary sketch and that there may have been a color version of it somewhere.

Benita McGinnis' Art Nouveau sketch, in le style Mucha, boasts a decorative halo-like border that was a hallmark of many Mucha posters. Three cherubic angels, illuminated by the Star of Bethlehem, burst through the halo as they blow their horns, heralding the arrival of the Savior as the subtly drawn Magi journey to Bethlehem in the lower quarter of the picture. The caption "CHRISTMAS," set in its own simple border, ties the two scenes together in a vignette that is solemn yet celebratory. The sketch is signed in the lower right hand corner by B.E. McGinnis and dated 1907.

Alphonse Mucha and his family returned to Europe in 1910. Fiercely proud of his Slavic heritage, he spent the rest of his life working on his masterwork project of 20 paintings, each 20 feet high, called The Slav Epic, about the history of the Slav and Czech peoples.

In 1939 during the German invasion of Prague, the Gestapo arrested Mucha. He became ill during his interrogation and was released, dying of pneumonia on July 14, 1939.

Aunt Detty treasured the above photograph of her beloved teacher and kept it in her scrapbook along with her Christmas design and other memories of her years at the Art Institute. "Mucha, our French artist love of the year. Famous all over the world. His paintings now bring thousands. (Taught) us the rule of 3 to 5."

For a more on Alphonse Mucha, click here to view Part One of a documentary on his life.

"The general plan of work is that students shall occupy themselves in severe practice, chiefly drawing from antique and life, during the forenoon; and in the afternoon may either continue these studies or devote themselves to the practice of still-life sketching, illustration, perspective, memory drawing, anatomy, composition, modeling, lectures, etc.

“Flying high” Date unknown.

". . . The students also have a society called the Art Students' League of Chicago. This organization plans numerous special activities, among which may be mentioned the plays, masques, pageants, and various dramatic undertakings, some of which have developed a high degree of educational value. The social life of the school, especially in its artistic phases, is a distinct advantage to the student..."

Benita took part in a number of

plays at the Art Institute. Here

she plays a cat, circa 1908.

Balancing study, fun, and a social life came easily to my grand aunt, Benita McGinnis, who was an outgoing and lively young woman. She took her studies seriously yet found great joy in art and artistic expression. I think this came easily to her, not just because she was very talented but also because she viewed art and social interaction as inextricably and shamelessly bound. From an early age, she made up her mind to experience the joy and beauty of life as fully as she could, so she could express her appreciation of those things in her creations.

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Benita (McGinnis) McCormick(1889 - 1984)Benita McGinnis and her classmates in the 1908 Women’s Life Class of the Art Institute of Chicago were anything but shrinking violets.

Women’s Life Class Party. Benita McGinnis is at top row, second from right. Art Institute of Chicago, 1908. From Benita (McGinnis) McCormick’s scrapbook.

In fact, I suspect that many of them were like my maternal grand aunt “Detty” and were forward-thinking young women, ready to take their rightful place in the world rather than stand in the shadows of the male-dominated society of the time.

The scene takes place just after noon. We see Aunt Detty, her classmates, and their slightly bemused professor, as they celebrate some occasion with daring and gusto, eating chocolate cake, drinking red wine, and even smoking. The mood in the room is playful yet bold and defiant. Aunt Detty, raising her own glass triumphantly, stands in the back row, second from the right.

Just what the occasion was on that day in 1908 is a mystery. Perhaps not coincidentally, though, on March 8th of the same year, thousands of women in New York City marched in the streets to demand equality and fair working conditions in what would one day be called International Women's Day. Two months later, hundreds of women in Chicago showed their support. It would not be unthinkable that the Women’s Life Class decided to join in the fervor of the time in their own audacious way.

Friday, November 15, 2013

My grand aunt Benita -- Aunt Detty as our family knew her -- kept a large scrapbook with fascinating photographs of her life and the people she knew. Among the photos was the one below of her classmates from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, shown in front of one of the iconic lions at the entrance to the Art Institute.

Though she did not name any of the young people in the photo, she did caption it, "Keeping the Lion Warm on a Winter Day." No doubt they were trying to keep themselves warm, too, with all that snow on the ground.

Interestingly enough, Aunt Detty does not appear in this picture. I wonder if she was standing next to the photographer?

It would be wonderful to know who the people were, which were her close friends, and what became of them all. If you spot someone you recognize, let us know.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Passionate about art, my grand aunt Benita McGinnis had shown promise as a young artist. When she was still in her mid-teens, she was admitted to the prestigious School of the Art Institute of Chicago in the early years of the 20th century. She was vibrant and outgoing and proved herself a natural leader from the time she entered the Art Institute, often appearing at the center of school photographs, surrounded by her laughing classmates and friends.

She made friends easily and had no trouble striking up conversations with both students and teachers. But there was one exception.

During her first year at the Art Institute, there was a slightly older girl, maybe two years ahead of her, in the Life Drawing class. Benita had seen her several times, even tried saying hello, but she never got a response. This older student was serious, introspective, and aloof. She dressed differently than most of the students, preferring austere, mostly black clothes to the stylish, bright dresses most girls of the time tended to wear. To the cheery and extroverted Benita, she must have been something of a mysterious challenge.

One day as Benita walked down the long hall to one of her classes, the door to the Life Drawing classroom flew open and the girl bolted out. Sobbing uncontrollably, she practically ran into my grand aunt as she headed for the garden.

Benita felt a surge of sympathy for the girl and wanted to help. She made her way to the garden and found her under a tree in the garden, still crying.

She told me this story in 1982, over 75 years later. "We all knew there was just 'something' about Georgia, and sure enough, we were right," she recalled with a grin. "I never did find out what happened that day, because she left the Art Institute right after that incident. But things seem to have worked out for her, haven't they?"

"Georgia" was Georgia O'Keeffe, and yes, things did work out for her. After leaving the Art Institute, she moved to New York and eventually to New Mexico, establishing herself as one of the most celebrated American artists of the 20th century. Called the "Mother of American Modernism," she painted bold, visionary, and often startling landscapes and and large-scale renditions of nature and animal bones of New Mexico and the Southwest. Her daring explorations of these simple subjects caused people to experience them in ways they never would have done otherwise.

School of the Art Institute of Chicago, 2005.Courtesy GARNET. Flickr, Creative Commons

Though I never would have anticipated it at the time, a couple of months after this conversation with my aunt, I, too, had a close encounter with Georgia O'Keeffe. I was working the ticket counter for Continental Airlines at San Francisco International Airport one afternoon when she checked in for the mid-afternoon flight from San Francisco to Albuquerque, New Mexico.

This time, the young woman my aunt had known at the Art Institute was being pushed to the ticket counter in a wheelchair, her aged frail frame wrapped in a thick black shawl. Her face by now was lined with 90+ years of experiences, and her fine gray hair was severely tied up at the nape of her neck. Though heads occasionally turned as they recognized the legendary painter, she stared straight ahead, her lips tightly pursed, seemingly indifferent to the chaos around her. I had no idea that by now she was almost completely blind.

Some of my co-workers whispered quietly as they recognized this artistic icon of American Modernism and stole admiring glances at her. I was tempted to ask her if everything was all right, or whether there was anything else we could do for her. But I had a feeling I knew how she would react. I handed her a first class boarding pass, wished her a good flight home, and left her alone to her thoughts.

Ilove this portrait of the young McGinnis sisters, which I found in my grand aunt Benita (McGinnis) McCormick's scrapbook. The picture shows Aunt "Detty," as we called her, on the right and my grandmother Alice on the left. My grandmother looks to be about nine or ten in this picture, and my grand aunt was about 15 or 16, dating the year of this photograph to about 1905. It was taken at the Garvin Studio, a few miles from their home and only a couple of blocks away from Lake Michigan. The photograph shows a tender moment between two sisters who were at once very much alike yet very different. Though both girls and their brothers, Francis Eugene and John, were born in Conneaut, Ohio, their parents, Thomas and Mary Jane (Gaffney) McGinnis, moved the family to Chicago, Illinois just before the close of the 19th century.

The McGinnis Family is listed here in the 1900 United StatesFederal Census, living at 215 Monroe Street, in the Hyde ParkNeighborhood on the south side of Chicago.

My grandmother Alice and Aunt Detty each had different explanations for this. According to my grandmother, a fatal railroad accident in Conneaut in the late 1800s impacted Thomas so much that he decided to quit his job on the Nickel Plate Railroad. Aunt Detty believed that the family left Conneaut after Thomas was injured while working on the Nickel Plate.

I have been unable to prove either claim but surmise that the reason the family moved may be somewhere in the middle. Although there do not seem to be any records of a major railroad accident during the 1890s, there were numerous mentions in the Conneaut and Ashtabula newspapers of the time detailing the dangers of railroad work, as well as frequent accounts and obituaries of young railroad workers. It seems only natural that my great-grandfather and many of his fellow railroad men might think it was a matter of time before their own names appeared in the rolls of the fallen.One thing both sisters agreed on was that their father wanted a safer, more predictable ooccupation. He moved the family to Chicago, Illinois, and found work as a sidewalk cement inspector for the city, a job that certainly fit the bill.

The family rented a home at 215 Monroe street for several years before building another home at 8336 South Drexel Avenue. The 1900 United States Federal Census showed that John Patrick Gaffney, Mary Jane's brother, also had moved to the big city and was living with the McGinnises.

Chicago was an exciting place to live for four youngsters from a small town in Ohio. It must have reawakened Thomas' memories of his youth, when he spent several years as a sailor traveling the world. He often regaled his children, whom he called his "small craft," with colorful stories of his days at sea.

Even as a teenager, Benita was enamored of her father's adventures. Caught up in the Windy City's unstoppable energy, she began to see the possibilities of making her own mark in the world, meeting new people, and discovering far-away places. Her father would become her inspiration and her muse, helping her turn those dreams into reality.